I Love You - Take Two
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: This is it - the big re-creation of the ILY scene. Molly struggles over whether she can go through it again. Her husband, Sherlock is supportive either way. Sensual but non-explicit content between a loving married couple.
1. Chapter 1

Molly threw down the piece of paper she'd been studying onto the coffee table. "I can't do it!" she declared to her husband.

Sherlock, who had just walked into the sitting room, asked, "Why not? You love our re-creations. Why all of a sudden don't you want to do the one that changed things for us?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "Maybe it's just because it is so many words. I had almost forgotten the hurt associated with them, but with this script you gave me, I am reliving it, over and over."

"I'm sorry, darling," he responded, putting an arm around her shoulders. "If you feel so strongly about it, we will just forget it. I just thought you'd want to see the desperation on my face when I said the words to you. I still remember how I felt."

"I know how you felt," the pathologist said softly, lovingly. "Do you realize you said 'please' to me six times during that conversation?"

"I didn't take note of that. All I know is that I was desperate, begging you to say the words."

She leaned into her husband. "I could tell that by the tone of your voice, without seeing you. Instinctively, I knew something was wrong. I know we've been through this several times by now, analyzing it. Perhaps that is why I'm asking myself why I'd want to re-create it. It isn't something we need to re-write into a new memory, because the end result was the best result I could have ever wished for."

"Even though it took me three days to come to you?"

"I can hardly complain when you offered me an engagement ring and proposed. In my wildest dreams I wouldn't have anticipated you being ready so fast to embrace the bonds of holy matrimony."

Her husband chuckled, putting his free hand on her belly. "Don't forget fatherhood, sweetheart." Then he started a little. "She has the hiccups again, doesn't she?"

"I told you, she has been getting them three times a day at least, lately."

"She is certainly making her presence felt."

"Tell me about it," Molly sighed, indicating her feet on the coffee table.

"Not improving, I see," remarked her husband.

"Ever since we got back from America, they've been swollen. I think I may have overdone it there, all that walking around."

"I did tell you to take it easy," her husband pointed out.

"Well I did, eventually. I would not have given up that other nightclub re-creation for anything, though."

Sherlock grinned and turned her face to his, kissing her gently. "That song has become your new obsession hasn't it?"

Moly blushed. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Oh, please, Molly. I hear you asking Alexa to play it every time I go take a shower. You've been quite obsessed with it ever since that university dream you had when we were engaged."

She blushed again. "Well, that 'Shape of You' was a big reason I dreamed such a sexy dream."

"Mmm," Sherlock nuzzled her neck, then called out, "Alexa, play 'Shape of You.'"

The Amazon Echo device responded with, "Playing 'Shape of You,' by Ed Sheeran." And the song started to play.

"I'm in love with the shape of you, baby," said Sherlock in a very seductive voice, just before he began kissing his wife in earnest. He slid his free arm under her knees and lifted her so she was sitting in his lap sideways to make it easier.

Molly wound her arms about his neck, loving the exquisite pressure of his lips on hers, letting the rhythm and lyrics of the song wash over her. Sherlock was right. There was something about this song that made her feel sexy, despite the fact that she was seven and a half months pregnant.

Her husband certainly found her sexy, whatever size she was, she reflected idly, as he began systematically removing her clothing. "Molly, my sweet, I can see why you like this song so much, because, as the song says, I'm in love with your body," he murmured even as he accomplished his task, leaving his wife completely exposed on his fully clothed body.

Molly shivered, despite herself. The fire was going out in the fireplace, and the room was getting chilly without the benefit of clothes. "Sherlock, you are not being fair." she protested, as he continued to kiss her, peppering her body with kisses that made her a little dizzy and caused her body to respond, as it always did. Then, without warning, he stood, still holding her in his arms and walked towards their bedroom. Molly always felt like a bride when he did that, even if she most certainly did not look like one at the moment.

He deposited her on the bed, then said, "Get under the covers, love."

She obeyed, even as he undressed himself as well. "You put on the electric blanket already!" She exclaimed happily.

Of course I did," he answered, sliding in next to her. "I know how you've been feeling the cold since we got back from those lovely sunny days in America."

"I'm so ready for winter to be over," she bemoaned.

"Technically it is spring already, my sweet."

"You know what I mean, Sherlock."

Her husband did not answer. His lovely warm, male body was doing a very good job of heating hers and she started to wonder why they had bought the electric blanket, it was getting uncomfortably warm now.

"Sweetheart," she began.

Her husband growled into her ear, "You are going to say you need the loo, aren't you?"

She giggled, "Actually, after our lovely Valentine's evening, I realized that my bladder doesn't need to be completely empty if we make love. Sometimes it makes things even more...intense."

Her husband looked at her in some surprise. His hands were drifting over her body, doing things to her and she squirmed. "Then what were you trying to say?"

She thought a moment. Pregnancy amnesia was definitely a thing, she was so forgetful lately. Of course, Sherlock always had that effect on her anyway. Oh, that was it. "You can turn the electric blanket off now, I'm hot."

"You most certainly are," her husband agreed, giving her his sexiest look, but nonetheless reaching over to turn the blanket off. Then he took her in his arms once again. "Are we done talking now?"

"Yes, Sherlock." She sighed happily, allowing him to demonstrate his affections and love for her. He really was a Barbara Cartland hero, she thought dreamily as his mouth and hands did wild things to her and made her body vibrate to his touch.

"My precious, adorable little wife," he whispered huskily as they made love, and their hearts soared together into bliss.

Afterwards, nestled in Sherlock's arms, Molly said drowsily, "Sherlock?"

"He kissed her neck. "Yes my sweet?"

"Have you been reading my Barbara Cartland novels again?"

There was a pause, before he questioned, "Why do you ask?"

"Well, the Barbara Cartland heroes are always saying stuff like 'my precious,' and 'my sweet.' Your love vocabulary seems to have increased somewhat lately."

Sherlock huffed. "Am I not allowed to address you in such terms?"

Molly shifted so she was facing him. "I don't mind you using them. It's no wonder I've been thinking you are more like a romantic hero than ever lately..." She could have sworn her husband blushed.

"I've been, uh, experimenting," he told her.

She arched an eyebrow. "In what way?"

"Testing your reaction to different terms of endearment."

Molly snorted. "You're a very bad liar, Sherlock. You know I respond to every term of endearment, no matter what. So, calculating my response to certain terms of endearment makes no sense. I think you read those novels because you secretly like thinking of yourself as the hero. Ever since that first dream you had soon after I got pregnant, every now and then you have another one."

This time Sherlock definitely blushed. "To be fair, you've had those same type of dreams too. Is it so wrong to want to be a woman's hero?"

"You're already my hero, honey. You do so much for me, you're unbelievably romantic. Any woman would be blessed to have a man like you."

"Just don't tell Mycroft. I'm trying to maintain an image of being a sex god rather than a romantic lover."

The pathologist burst into laughter. "I think you have already ruined that by kissing me in front of him, rubbing my belly, making grand romantic gestures..."

"Gestures and actions can still convey a sex god image, Molly. It's the other stuff that ruins it"

"How so?"

"The way I call you my darling, my precious, my sweet, my naughty little angel..."

"Which is my favourite of course." She looked at him coquettishly. "You seem to have this thing about getting turned on whenever I am not wearing any knickers."

"And you have this habit of telling me about it for that exact purpose. Now close your eyes and sleep or there will be a round two."

Mollys snickered. "So tell me exactly why we are going to sleep at two in the afternoon on a Saturday?"

"Because making love and all this conversation has worn me out."

Suddenly, over her husband's shoulder, she spied the novel "Love Leaves at Midnight" still on the corner of his nightstand. "You were reading in here while I was out there studying the script you made me."

Sherlock groaned. "Guilty as charged. All that romantic stuff about their wedding night and how he 'made her his,' it well, made me want to do the same."

"And you even turned onthe electric blanket for me in preparation. There's no getting around it, my love. You are the world's only consulting detective, and the world's best romantic hero as well. And because of that, I've changed my mind."

"Changed your mind on what?" He sounded puzzled.

"On re-creating the 'I love you' scene. I want to look at you as you say the words. But I want to shorten it a bit, maybe just start with me saying , 'I'm not an experiment, Sherlock,' because that is where you really started to get desperate. Before that, you were trying to control your emotions. Besides, you worked so hard on making me that script, I don't want it to go to waste."

"Alright, my...little love," he agreed, deliberately using a romantic novel term. "When?"

"Tonight. I think I'm ready. We can take a nap now."

"About bloody time," her husband responded, kissing her before she turned her back to him again so he could spoon against her and they could sleep.

* * *

 **Author's note:** This chapter makes reference to an Ed Sheeran song that kind of inspired some of the writing of my "What if We Met at Uni?" story. References to the nightclub re-creation are from a future publication about Sherlock and Molly's time in America after the setting of my one-shot "The Interview."

If you read only a story or two of mine, you will not get all the references. Because my entire volume of work takes place in the same universe, you will get the most out of these stories if you take them as whole, but I hope you can still enjoy them individually if you don't want to read everything I've written.

Are you looking forward to the second part of this two-shot? How do you think the re-creation will play out?

Please post your review and let me know. I do hope you enjoy the humour I try to insert in my stories, I like to make people smile!


	2. I Love You

Sherlock blew gently into Molly's ear.

"Stop that." She swatted at him. "Blowing in my ear is not romantic."

"It made you wake up," he teased. "It's four o'clock and we have the last, and best scenario to re-create."

"You can't say it is the best one until it is finished and we know the result."

"Oh, I know the result Molly. One word - bedroom."

"Maybe it's time to do something else," his wife said playfully.

"Sweetheart, whether you like it or not, our bedroom is the most convenient and satisfying place to end up after our scenarios."

"I can think of somewhere else."

He looked at her, narrowing his eyes. "What did you have in mind?"

"My lovely yellow armchair."

The detective rolled his eyes. "Call me old-fashioned Molly, but I actually prefer to be looking at you when we make love. That might be a little difficult on a chair with your current girth."

His wife huffed, but capitulated. "Fine, we'll leave the chair till after the baby comes."

The sleuth stroked his wife's cheek. "I like the way you think well in advance. I'm not sure how having a baby is going to complicate our current schedule though."

"You do realize after Victoria arrives, we will not be able to make love for a few weeks, don't you?"

"Don't remind me," he groaned. "I really don't want to go back to taking cold showers."

Molly smirked. "There are other ways of taking care of you, my love, besides cold showers."

"Alright, love, I think we need to change the conversation now or we won't get out of bed at all."

"I need the loo, so I'm getting up."

"Of course you do," he grinned. It had been rather remarkable she had gone this long without dashing to the toilet.

When she returned, they made their plans.

"I can't wear my striped jumper anymore," pointed out Molly. "It was hard enough to wear it for the solving crimes and having dinner scenario."

"I suppose the point of this particular scenario is to focus on our faces, so what we are wearing doesn't really matter."

"Our dressing gowns then?" suggested his pathologist.

"Do you mean MY dressing gowns, Molly?"

"Just get over it already, honey. The blue one is mine, and has been for a long time now. I only let you wear it when I want to refresh your scent in it."

Sherlock snorted. "You LET me wear my dressing gown?"

"No, I let you wear MY dressing gown,"was her pert reply, and he gave up with a chuckle - this was one battle he could not be bothered with to fight for. He did have two other dressing gowns, after all. His favourite was the red one anyway.

He got up out of bed and walked to the wardrobe, earning a swat on his bum as he did so. Luckily it was not like that one she had given him on Valentine's Day. And she followed the swat with a little rub on his bare behind. His wife, of course was also not yet dressed. She needed the blue dressing gown. He pulled both of them out of the wardrobe, handing her "her" dressing gown.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Holmes. I do so love my dressing gown," she teased.

Sherlock noticed even the blue one didn't quite cover her belly completely, a tiny bit of it peeked out, including her completely popped out belly button.

"So, are we going to sit on the sofa, my darling?" Sherlock asked his wife.

"Can we eat first? I'm starving. I could go for some Subway."

The detective groaned. "I adore you, my sweet, but are you going to make me get dressed now just to get food?"

"Fine," she huffed. "Let's get pizza delivered. I want one with onions, olives and anchovies."

Sherlock just stared at her. "You are craving that stuff? Especially those disgusting little fish?"

Molly giggled. "No, I just wanted to see the expression on your face when I asked for them. I hate anchovies too. Ham and pineapple, or ham and mushroom will be fine."

"I'll get both, that way we have leftovers - unless of course you can polish off a whole pizza to yourself. With your increased appetite, I would not be at all surprised."

His wife pouted. "Men are not supposed to make fun of their wives' eating habits. Especially when said wife is pregnant with their child."

Sherlock dropped a kiss on her head. "I am duly reprimanded. I'll call for the pizza now."

Half an hour later the pizza arrived. Sherlock noted that his wife had four pieces, rather than her usual three, and she usually handed him the crust to one of those, but not this time. He very carefully made no mention of it. He did not need any more reprimanding, or swats on his backside for that matter.

"Well, my love," he said, once they were done with their dinner, "Tell me when you are ready to begin - after you've been to the loo?" He had gone himself before the pizza arrived.

"Yes. You can go and sit on the sofa now, and I'll be back in a few minutes."

Sherlock cleaned up their plates and then seated himself on one side of the sofa, facing inwards. He was really quite anxious to do this scenario. He wanted his wife to understand properly how desperate he had felt, allow her to see,as well as hear him.

Molly returned and sat on the other side of the sofa. "Ready?"

"Just a second," he responded. There was a bit of pizza sauce at the side of her mouth, and he licked it off, then kissed her. "Pizza sauce," he murmured, rubbing her nose gently with his, before pulling back. "Okay, let's do this." He held out his hands, and Molly put her small ones into them.

"Alright." She took a moment to compose herself, then said, "I'm not an experiment, Sherlock"

And it all came rushing back to him, the emotions he had felt. "No, I know you're not an experiment. You're my friend. We're friends. But - please.- just - say those words for me," he told her earnestly.

"I can't say that. I can't -I can't say that to you." She'd skipped her next line to go to this one, but that was ok, it wasn't really important.

"Of course you can, darling, why can't you?" Oops, he'd added a word that wasn't supposed to be there, he was slipping.

"You know why." She looked at him and his hands tightened on hers.

"No, I don't know why."

"Of course you do."

Sherlock leaned in towards his pathologist. "Please, just say it," he begged.

Molly tried to retain her composure, but it was slipping. This re-creation was not quite going to plan. She was obviously remembering her own pain.

Molly's hands were now trembling in his, and he could see the tears forming. "I can't, not to you." She pulled a hand away and wiped at a stray tear.

'Why?" he asked, feeling once again the anguish of a ticking time bomb that was threatening his beloved's life.

Her lips trembled as she said, "Because it's true, Sherlock. It's always been...true." Her voice had softened into nothingness, the way it had the first time.

Sherlock tried to compose himself, but his heart was breaking for her now, realizing what it must have cost her to say that to him. He suddenly realized he didn't want to do this anymore, couldn't put her, or himself through it anymore. It had been a foolish idea.

Instead, he skipped to the end and looked at her, putting every ounce of feeling into his words. "I love you."

Then he leaned across to her, putting his free hand against her face and pulling his other one from her grasp so he could put it behind her head. He kissed her with the urgency and desperation he had felt that day, with all the emotion she had evoked in him.

Molly's arms came around him, drawing him closer to her, as close as they could get with their baby making her presence known.

He lifted his head from her lips to say. "I'm so sorry, my darling. I love you so much. I only just realized now how much I hurt you as well. I was desperate, and your heart was breaking. Oh, my sweet love." He kissed her again, expressing with his lips what his heart felt for his wife.

They were both gasping for air when he finally released her again, their chests rising and falling rapidly. She leaned her head against his shoulder and he kissed her hair. "I love you so much, Sherlock. We might not have gotten through it the way you planned, but I understand now too, the desperation you felt, I could see it in your eyes, feel it in the way you kissed me." She stood then, dropping the dressing gown before settling her naked body in his lap.

Then she said. "Kiss me again, Sherlock, then make love to me, make love to me like you mean it."

He knew what she meant, and he kissed her again fiercely, possessively, before lifting his wife and carrying her to their bedroom.

And there, he kissed her yet again with the same desperation and passion that had been in his words, with the deep, abiding love he felt for her. They loved each other and they gloried in their love.

Sherlock's hands and mouth explored his wife's body, eliciting from her the gasps and whimpers of pleasure that always accompanied their time of lovemaking, inflaming his senses as usual, until his focus was solely on her, concentrating on bringing her joy the way she always brought him joy.

Their hearts beat fast in tandem as their two bodies became one flesh, united in love, in a sacred bond that would always keep their love one that was blessed by God.

Sometime later, with his wife wrapped securely in his arms, Sherlock heard her make a little grunt of pain.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked anxiously.

T"It's nothing," said his wife. "Every now and then I get Braxton-Hicks contractions. Remember, the midwife told us that is quite common."

His arms tightened about her. "Have you been getting them often?"

"Not really. Once in awhile. They're not regular and it isn't really painful. It's more like discomfort."

"So it definitely isn't early labour?" He was concerned. Molly hadn't told him she'd been suffering from Braxton-Hicks.

"It's fine, sweetheart," she assured him, lifting her face to kiss his cheek. "Don't you remember, the midwife did say they can be brought on by having sex?"

Sherlock huffed. "We don't have sex, we make love."

His wife giggled. "It's still the same thing. So anyway, unless you want to just abstain for the next few weeks..."

"No, no, as long as you aren't unduly concerned, I won't be either." He was not going to be talked out of being with her for weeks, especially when they wouldn't be making love for weeks after the baby arrived. "Anyway, we will have a lot of time to spend together over the next few weeks, and I will be able to keep a close eye on you," he remarked casually, hoping his wife would not be cross with him.

Molly looked up and met his eyes. "And why would that be?" she asked suspiciously.

Sherlock cringed. He was not looking forward to an irate Molly. Not that he had ever experienced her really irate since his time when trying to expose Culverton Smith. "I might have, uh, contacted Mike Stamford and asked that you be put on maternity leave early. So um, your last day was yesterday."

Sherlock winced when he was rewarded by a smart swat on his backside which he knew he deserved, but his wife rubbed the spot immediately afterwards to soothe the sting. "That was very naughty of you, my husband," she chided him. Then she admitted, "I already spoke to Mike about it yesterday, requesting early maternity leave because my feet have been so swollen and I am so uncomfortable. He already approved it before you called him."

The detective opened his mouth in surprise. "Why didn't he tell me you had already asked? And why did you smack my bum?"

"I wanted to surprise you. And you still deserve the smack for going behind my back and making arrangements without my consent." Then she kissed him tenderly before saying, "I did rub your poor, sexy bum right away afterwards though, so it wouldn't sting for long."

"That you did, wife," agreed the sleuth. "One of these days though, I am going to do the same to you," he warned silkily.

"Oh," said his naughty little angel, wiggling her bum into him invitingly. "Promises, promises."

Oh, how he adored his pathologist, his wife, his true love.

* * *

 **Author's note:** how did you find the conclusion of this story? Did you like Molly's reaction to Sherlock's confession?

Please review and tell me which of my stories you enjoy reading most. Do you try to read all of them or only certain ones? Do you understand what is happening in my Sherlolly universe? Your response is always welcome (even if you review as a guest, I appreciate it). Thanks for reading.

Blessings


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